


Temporary Translucence

by Syven_Siren



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Bullying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Injury, Multi, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Insert, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28421841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syven_Siren/pseuds/Syven_Siren
Summary: Forced to carry the burden of words and judgement, the reader finds a confidence that outshines the harshness.
Relationships: Avengers Team & Reader, Avengers Team & You, Avengers Team/Reader, Avengers Team/You, Bruce Banner & Reader, Bruce Banner & You, Bruce Banner/Reader, Bruce Banner/You, Clint Barton & Reader, Clint Barton & You, Clint Barton/Reader, Clint Barton/You, James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes & You, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/You, Natasha Romanov & Reader, Natasha Romanov & you, Natasha Romanov/Reader, Steve Rogers & Reader, Steve Rogers & You, Steve Rogers/Reader, Steve Rogers/You, Tony Stark & Reader, Tony Stark & You, Tony Stark/Reader, Tony Stark/You, natasha romanov/you
Comments: 10
Kudos: 79





	1. Chapter 1

“Move!”

Given no time to react, you are shoved harshly to the floor. Your breath is stolen suddenly upon impact. A humming pain blossoms between your shoulder blades, radiating along with your spine and vibrating through your skull. _All for what? For an enemy that is no threat?_ With a simple strike, the hologram is taken down, vanishing back to nothingness.

“If you can’t handle a simulated mission, how the hell are you ever going to survive a real one?” A sharp glare from Natasha knocks what little breath you have been able to regain away again. Her scrutiny of you is cold and unyielding.

“I think you’re forgetting that I have completed successful ones previously.” There is a boldness behind your words, but you’re unsure where it has come from. Though it doesn’t truly matter because it is soon gone, replaced with an unsettling anxiousness that makes your stomach flip and flutter.

“Yeah, with a partner or the entire team having to make up for your lack of skill. We aren’t going to continue to carry you through them. Either improve faster or get the hell out of the way.” Bucky’s comments tear through you, leaving tattered pieces in their wake. If there was anyone that you thought would understand the current hell you are suffering under, you had assumed it would be him. He was under the same circumstances at one point. Perhaps now that his tenure as the new member is over, he feels no need to find common ground with you. Maybe it is all wishful thinking on your part.

“You keep this up, and you won’t make it to a solo mission.”

You thought them ignoring you had been the worst part, but now you wish you could return to the days of silent hostilities. At least then, you could imagine they just did not want to be the one to break the ice first. It’s always awkward welcoming the newbie, but when the days of newness ended and still they ignored you, you knew there would be no warm welcome. There wasn’t much you could do other than to foolishly try to prove your worth, thinking that was what they wanted, what they needed.

It was not. Soon muteness turned to murmurs of criticism and then to outright ruthlessness. You countered their cruelness with a respectful quietness. Like a pane of frosted glass, you stood tall, allowing cruel words, sneered phrases, and looks of contempt to pass through you. Sturdy and beautiful but easily broken with just the right amount of continued stress.

You wait until they exit the training room to haul yourself off the floor. With the mental reminder that you are a professional, you promise to keep it that way. These people may not want to be your friend, but you have to work together.

.

.

.

 _How could you not have realized how important that reminder would become, especially on this mission?_ With your team trapped by the enemy, they don’t even consider you in helping them escape. You can hear their conversation through the earpieces. They whisper, debating if they should enlist your help. Forced to stay aboard the jet for your own safety and their patience, you are the only one with the ability to save them, but they still see you as inefficient. _Why would they ask for help from someone they don’t deem worthy?_

Rather than waiting for them to finish, you take charge. With the information you retained from earlier communications, you easily find them. There are no “thank-you"s given as you attempt to free them from their confinement. What is offered are harsh statements about your lack of following directions and how you are putting the entire mission at risk.

“It’s sad really. I hear the way they talk about you. They don’t trust you. **Don’t want you.** ” A voice calls out from the shadows. It’s no surprise your enemy has been lurking around, surveying the situation for an opportunity to make himself known. _‘Bad guys always like to gloat’_ , you think to yourself. Glancing at the captured Avengers, he smirks and taunts them further, “I will show you the respect you deserve. I can see it in you. Intelligence and strength. Join me.”

_**“(Y/N), do not do this.”** _

_**“If you do this, there is no turning back.”** _

_**“Please, (Y/N). We need you. You’re not like him.”** _

_**“He’s hurt so many people.”** _

Their words swarm you, flooding you with commands and comments. For the first time, you hear concerns behind what they say. A hand is outstretched for you to take. He waits, letting you mull over the decision. His retorts to your team drip heavily with arrogance. You would never admit it, but a part of you, the darkest, the deepest part of you, enjoys the way your teammates squirm in uncertainty.

His grin widens as your hand slips into his awaiting one. “Wise choice. Now, which one should we eliminate first?” With a rough handshake, he seals his fate.

“You.”

Realization flickers in his eyes as the situation is made clear. The attempts to tug his hand away from your grip are pointless. You have him now and intend to show him, to show them, what power you possess. Letting out a roar of anger, he swings his other arm wildly in the hopes of creating distance. A simple knee strike throws him off balance, forcing him to stumble backward. Like a hurricane, he’s full of fury, fully intent on destroying everything within his path. For all his bluster, none of his strikes land. Your movements remain calm and constant as you dodge, block, and weave around his strikes.

Evading his next punch, you discover an opening and work quickly, dismantling the man, joint by joint. Bones are ripped harshly from their sockets, tendons snap, and ligaments tear as your nimble fingers glide along with his skeleton. He crumples to the thud, breathing but incapacitated. Stepping over him, you release your team from the confines of their makeshift prison.

Stunned faces stare at you, searching for words to express how they feel about what they just witness. The vision of the weak individual they pictured you as was nothing but a mirage. You are not that person, not in the slightest. Natasha shakes her head in disbelief. Her cool, calm, collected facade has been broken by the intensity with which you handled the situation.

“(Y/N), that was…”

“Impressive.” Tony finishes Steve’s sentence, “Terrifyingly impressive.”

“I think I’ll take that solo mission now.” You don’t wait for a response before heading back to the jet. The boldness that was once fleeting returns, and you are certain that it is here to stay.


	2. Chapter 2

The journey home is silent, with each of the Avengers side eying the others and glancing at you to gauge when would be the appropriate time to confront you. **  
**

“(Y/N), hey. I wanted to…I mean the team…We wanted to say thank you for what you did.”

With a nod of your head, you acknowledge Steve’s statement while simultaneously shutting down any further discussion. There’s no need to talk. They hadn’t wanted to do it before, so why start now?

When Monday rolls around, you’re feeling accomplished and refreshed for the first time since joining the team. A weight has been lifted off your shoulders, allowing you to walk around the Tower with your head held high.

**_If only you had known that morning what the week had in store for you._ **

It’s early evening when the team settles in the kitchen to eat dinner. Not one to loiter where you are not welcome, you grab your drink and move to make a swift exit.

“Oh (Y/N)! You’re not gonna join us?”

The question takes you by surprise. They have never offered you to eat with them before. The few times you had joined them, by sheer coincidence of timing and location, you felt like an unwanted guest. Like a stranger, you sat amongst a group that shared laughs and memories you could not recall.

“No. I ate earlier.”

Tony clears his throat, cutting through the tension of your curt response to catch your attention, “Steve and I were discussing a new mission. We think your set of skills would be perfect for the job. You’d leave Friday evening.”

“Of course. Who else is going?”

“Just you. You can take care of it, right? We can discuss the details in the morning. I have the dossier and plans detailed for you.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Good! Now that that is settled, let’s dig in. I’m starving.”

You make your exit but stop short when you hear your name brought up in conversation. You mentally scold yourself for even wanting to hear what they have to say. It doesn’t matter anymore, but part of you wants and needs to know.

“Steve, are sure this is a good idea? Giving (Y/N) a mission so soon?”

“There’s no reason not to give her a solo mission now.”

“Yes, but what if…” Steve and Tony wait for Bucky to finish. It’s obvious, from how well you handled the last one, that you can take one of your own. Yet, something still nags at Bucky’s mind, a feeling that he can’t dismiss just on seeing your skills only. If anything, bearing witness to your unrivaled combat talents has led him to feel further anxiety about the situation.

“I saw it too. The look (Y/N) made is what you’re talking?“ Natasha pipes in, a frown etched onto her face. Bucky nods, thankful he wasn’t the only one to observe the intensity and hint of darkness in your eyes. He’s never been good at communicating, and he knows there’s no easy way to describe what he witnessed.

“What look? How do you even know what you saw? I think you two are reading too much into this. Obviously, the kid can handle herself.”

“I’ve seen it in the mirror too many times to not know it. She’s skilled. We all underestimated that, but we still don’t know anything about her. She’s teetering on the edge. I don’t want her to be the downfall of this team.”

Nat’s words hang heavy in the air. Light-hearted dinner discussion has always been the usual accompaniment to dinner. This was anything but that. The tension only heightens when they hear shifting outside the kitchen before the silence returns.

.

.

.

Tuesday morning leaves little to be desired when Bucky catches you after your briefing with Tony and Steve. Although you thought better of it, you agree to talk with him.

“I want to apologize.”

“For what?”

“Well, for everything. We didn’t necessarily give you the warmest welcome. It wasn’t right.” His uncomfortableness is palpable. His eyes shift constantly and never linger too long on your face.

Part of you wants to laugh while the other half wants to lash out. He doesn’t even seem sure of what he is apologizing for. You wonder if he would be here if he and the rest of the team had not realized you were standing outside the kitchen last night.

“Sure, I forgive you.”

“It doesn’t sound like you do though.”

“Look, my forgiveness is not dictated by whether you apologize or not. I’ve forgiven you for my own heart and mind. It doesn’t concern me whether or not you want to accept it. It’s not my responsibility to make you feel better about what you chose to do and say about me.”

With that, you head off for training, leaving a bewildered and guilt-ridden Bucky in your wake.

By that night, it is clear what is going on. If Natasha knocking on your door and asking to talk is any indication then you are now stuck in a revolving door of apologies.

“We just want to be sure you’re ready. Going on a mission alone can be intense. There’s no backup. No help…”

“Natasha, what do you want? We both know what goes on during missions, so what is it that you truly want to say? Are you worried I might betray you? I do have that look, right?”

She cringes as you throw her words back in her face, “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to protect the team. My family. I know the struggle, (Y/N). I can see it in your eyes.”

“I promise, I’m not going to be the downfall of your family. I won’t be the stain of negativity on this team. Seems like you all have that covered anyway.”

It’s true. For all the concerns about you being a negative influence, they seem to be the abrasive lesions, killing off high hopes and spirits.

Not waiting for her response, you continue. “I won’t lie. That darkness you see is real. It’s the shadow of shame that I carry for things I’ve done in the past. I’m not perfect. I’ve seen my share of struggle and pain. I’ve lost parts of who am I. You can question my integrity on anything else, but never underestimate my loyalty to making sure I protect and save lives. I’ve lost too many important people to let myself become the monster that takes them away from someone else. Maybe you would know that if you bothered to ask.”

.

.

.

Wednesday comes and goes with little interaction shared between you and the team. The several members you have talked with are still licking their emotional wounds and wallowing in their guilt. Whatever reprieve you hoped to have is gone by Thursday.

It seems like everyone has been stopping to check on you, hoping to ensure you are confident in the mission objectives. Not wanting to be tricked by their concern, you remind yourself the worry expressed is for the sake of the mission, not you, and you’re okay with that. You don’t need nor want their worried glances directed at your own well-being.

It’s late when Bruce calls you down to the lab, informing you he wants to show you the new adjustments he has made to your suit. His excitement is contagious, and by the end of him informing you about all the upgrades, you can’t help but smile softly.

“They truly are sorry, you know.”

You know what he is referring to but are unsure if you want to have this discussion now. You remain quiet, allowing him to continue.

“What they did and how how they did it was wrong. Hell, even their apologies left a lot to be desired. I’m not making any excuses for them but you are among a group of broken individuals trying to hold each other together. They can be ruthless when it comes to newness, but it’s all for the sake of protecting themselves from more heartbreak.”

Something about his words tugs at your heart and mind. For the first time, someone is expressing something besides contempt for you, and it’s strange but welcomed.

“I appreciate the comments, Bruce, but…”

“I know. It doesn’t change what happened. And I’m not asking you to forgive or forget. I just wanted you to know. And thank you. Thank you for protecting them. Thank you for risking your safety to save them.”

“You’re welcome. I’d do it again if the situation called for it.”

“I know you would.”

Bidding Bruce a good night, you return to your room with an unknown feeling gripping your heart. His genuine smile and appreciation are the last things on your mind as you turn in for the night.

.

.

.

As you make your way to the jet on Friday morning, the sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon. It’s chilly this morning, and you have to hold back the shivers that run along your spine. You tell yourself it’s just the temperature, but the pit of anxiety bubbling in your chest says otherwise. A voice calls out to you, urging you to wait before you can board.

“Take this.” Natasha tucks a medallion in the palm of your hand. It’s small, no larger than a quarter, but beautiful in its worn state. It takes the shape of the sun with its rays woven out of patterned metal.

“It’s helped guide me through tough times. I know you may not want it, but it would make me feel better knowing you have it with you when you walk through the darkness.” She hesitates to let go of your hand, and as much as you don’t want to admit it, you miss the warmth when she does. It’s the first time in months you have felt anything besides frigidly bitter words and emotions. And although it will take more than a simple but profound gesture and statements to make your heart warm again, it’s a good place to start.

“Stay safe and be careful. We’ll be waiting for you to come home, (Y/N).”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning home is sometimes a difficult task, even more so when both versions leave little to be desired. You find yourself trapped in the darkness and seeking a way out. Fortunately, there may be a gentle enough hand to hold that will guide you toward the light.

**_Home_ ** _is where you wanted to be right now. It might be horrible, but this place is much worse._

_“Still conscious, my little sugarplum?”_

_“F-Fuck…you…asshole.” Your teeth chatter incessantly, a result of the ice water you were drenched in nearly an hour ago. The frigidness has now seeped into the material of your suit, chilling you to the bone and turning your lips slightly blue. The muscles of your legs and arms, long since numb from the ties that bind you, jump to life, contracting and twitching to create warmth. This mission was to be simple, at least that is how Steve had explained it. Perhaps it would have been if_ **_this_ ** _was not the place you were meant to infiltrate. You could say you had an advantage, being in this familiar setting. But as soon as you crossed the threshold of the enemy base, memories flooded back to you like the ocean tide returning to harshly batter the shoreline._

_“Ouch, that hurts. I thought we said we weren’t going to use bad words anymore.”_

_Before the next snarky remark can roll off your tongue, you receive a backhand to the face. The impact leaves your jaw hanging open, and a soundless gasp escapes you._

_“Now, are you going to play nice? Or do we need to–“_

_“Gabriele, that is enough. How many times do you need to be told that this is not how you treat guests? Especially not_ **_this_ ** _guest.”_

_You had been shivering from the cold before. But now, you tremble in abject terror of the woman standing before you. She hasn’t changed a bit since you last saw her. The tight dark curls of her hair set against a perfectly sculpted face. Brown eyes cast a look of annoyance, and her lips purse, giving no indication of whether she is enjoying the current situation or not. The white pants suit and matching heels that adorn her body are in stark contrast to the dirtiness of what goes on in places like this. For all her outward appearances, you know her mind and soul fit well in this environment. Her darkness is only heightened by these types of situations._

_“Amaya.”_

_Her name tumbles from your mouth. It’s interlaced with the exhale of your breath, so soft you don’t think she could have heard it. But when her gaze locks with yours and a tight-lipped smile forms on her face, you know she has._

_“Ahh, Project X2913. Or should I say (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N)? You have been underground for quite some time. We were surprised when you popped back up on our radar. Even more surprised when you joined the Avengers. Mother and Father will be so disappointed in you.”_

_“Y-You can tell them to take their disappointment and shove it.” A small flame of confidence licks at your heart, stoking your voice and inflaming your words with boldness. Gabriele moves to hit you again for the disrespect you show, but your threat and her pointed stare stop him._

_“You touch me again, and I promise that you’ll be missing that hand by the time I leave.”_

_His laugh reverberates throughout the small room but is cut short when his counterpart motions for him to shut up. Turning her attention back to you, Amaya’s lithe fingers grip your chin. They dip roughly into the softness of your cheeks as she turns your head back and forth to examine you._

_“You have grown brave, little one. I like this new spark in you, but I do not like this.” She speaks of the bruising on your face, “I am sorry he has done this to you.” A tsk, her telltale sign of dissatisfaction, comes after she has finished examining you. Uneasiness flutters in your stomach. Her words would be comforting if they were to come from someone else, but you know she is just playing the game, trying to lure you back in with false sentiment. You’re desperate for comfort but not from her; anyone but her._

_“Seems you have tried to erase this,” The pad of her index finger runs along the scarred bumpy skin that lines the side of your neck. The action causes you to shiver, “but that is okay. We can just give you a new one.”_

_“P-Please. Don’t.” You had been so strong before, but now it is gone, evaporated and leaving you frightened. Your skin pales, taking on a ghostly hue. You’re cold and hot all at once, sweating in places you did not know was possible._

_“Gabriele, if you would be so kind as to get the stamp.”_

_The iron sizzles, red hot with radiating heat. You can feel it even before it touches your skin. Sweat trickles down your temple, rolling over the apple of your cheek to try and cool you. You attempt to squirm away, but the restraints do not give up even an inch. There is a sickening crackle when the heated metal touches your skin. Like an egg in a frying pan, your skin bubbles and hisses as more pressure is applied._

A sob rakes your body, bringing you back into the present. You stare in the mirror. Your eyes linger on the white gauze covering your neck. The searing burn is ever-present, still so real and raw that you grip the edges of the bathroom sink to keep yourself upright. You try desperately to hold back the bile rising in your throat. Deep breaths are doing little to help.

_In through your nose. Out through your mouth._

_In through your nose. Out through your mouth._

_In through your nose. Out through your mouth._

**If only they could see you now.** Surely they would realize how right they were in questioning your position on the team. The Avengers may not know just how fragile you are, but Amaya surely does. She knew you would escape, but she made sure to keep you mentally locked within her prison. The mark upon your neck is the physical anchor drawing you back to her. It is proof of her control over your psyche. And now, she has you questioning every part, every piece of yourself that you tried to mend and put back together for so long. Her torment has your mind turning against you and holding rank with those that stood against you.

“Get yourself together, (Y/N).”

The person looking back at you in the mirror is someone you haven’t seen in a while. She’s not the strong, independent woman but the scared girl that knows of the harshness of the real world. Your breathing falls into an irregular pattern again as your throat tightens. Each inhale and exhale is emphasized by a sharp wheezing sound. Your vision swims, blurring white around the edges. You look for something, anything, to keep yourself from fading.

_Please help me. Please. Please help me._

The small sun sitting flush against your chest shimmers slightly under the fluorescent bulbs, beckoning you to look. Your eyes trace the design, focusing on the weaving rays that extend from the center. Your mind is overcome with something other than your drowning anxiety. You follow the sun’s lead over and over, away from the darkness.

It takes nearly forty minutes to regain control, but it works.

When you finally step out of the bathroom, you scan the small hotel room. The confiscated computer has the information required by the team for further investigation, but was all this pain worth it for something you’re sure Tony could have had hacked into? You shake your head at the thought, reminding yourself that you are in no place to be questioning orders. And although you’ve completed the mission a few days ahead of schedule, you are not yet ready nor eager to return to the compound. With a final sigh, you lie on the small bed, deciding that you’ll use the extra time to rest and prepare yourself to go back.

.

.

.

It’s midday when you return, meaning most will be long into their training sessions. Thankfully, Steve and Tony are briefed ahead of time about your arrival and meet you in the conference room. This means there will be no need to engage in unneeded conversations with others, no unnecessary or intruding questions. You sigh in relief at the thought.

The two men are quite surprised at how successful the mission went and even more delighted at the amount of information you retrieved. The briefing is shorter than you expect, and most of the attention is placed on the electronic device handed over.

“Anything else you need to tell us about? Any issues along the way?”

You can tell Tony is hinting at the bandages securely fitted around your neck, but you breeze past his concern.

“Oh, yes. I got into a scuffle with an operative. He lost a hand.”

“What? How does someone lose a hand in a scuffle?”

“He threatened me. We had words. He didn’t take it seriously, and that was a miscalculation on his part.” You shrug, not understanding Tony’s mental quandary.

“Should we really be surprised, Tony? (Y/N) can take care of things when they get out of control.”

“I know. I know. But that seems like a little more than just taking care of things.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my room and clean up. It’s been a long week.” You interject quietly. The itching burn on your neck has begun to spread like wildfire, making you sweat and twitch from the pain.

“Of course. By the way, Tony is throwing one of his extravagant parties tonight. I don’t know if they’re your thing, but he will never stop complaining until you come.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea, and I have nothing to wear.”

“I’ve got that covered. There will be a dress bag hanging on your door later today. A few choices. Pick the one you like the best. You can keep them all if you want.” Tony is now the one brushing off comments.

Never having been on the receiving end of gift-giving before, you’re at a loss for words now. Steve smiles at your reaction, chuckling a bit.

“Get some rest. We’ll see you tonight.”

You release a shaky breath once you’ve stepped into the hallway and the door seals closed behind you. Tears well in your lower lids, threatening to fall over as your fingers brush the gauze.

“You’re bleeding.”

Startled, you ball your hand into a fist, hiding red-stained fingertips. Concern wafts off of Clint, swirling around his posture and facial expressions.

“It’s seeping through your bandage.” He reaches out to touch you but thinks better of it. Not wanting to spook you, he asks for permission to help and patiently waits as you debate whether you should allow him to see you this vulnerable. He doesn’t even flinch as your blood is transferred onto his skin when you take the hand he offers you.

“We’ll get you to your room and clean that up. No one has to know.”

You nod, not trusting your voice, and trail silently behind him to the elevator. The path seems to blur, and before you know it, Clint has you sitting on the edge of your bed. Your gaze follows him as he meanders about the room, retrieves a damp washcloth, and returns to you.

His touch is gentle, tugging the tape and padding away your skin, hoping to not injure you further. He nearly chokes at the sight of your neck. The wound is deep, embedding itself through the top layers of your flesh. It is in no way neat, having obviously been placed over existing scar tissue, but the letters and numbers are etched clearly enough for Clint to read them. Though he doesn’t understand their meaning or why you were given them, he still feels a deep rage settling into the pit of his stomach. _Why would anyone do this to someone else? Why would they do it to you?_ He knows his questions will go unanswered for now and that he needs to maintain control of his fury to care for you.

In contrast to his anger, you blank out. Your mind wanders somewhere else as you allow him to clean your neck. It’s only when his voice enters the silence that you return, “You okay, kid?”

“Y-Yeah. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. That’s a bad scratch you got there.” His eyes are playful, mirroring his attempt to lighten the mood, but his jaw is set tight, “Don’t know how you’re not in a ton of pain. If it were one of them, we’d never hear the end of it. So much whining.”

“The other guy looks much worse.” You hiccup out a soft chuckle. A smile blossoms across his face. It’s the first time, in a long time, you’ve seen genuine care.

“Oh, I’m sure he does. I wouldn’t want to go up against you. Think you’ll be okay taking care of the rest?”

“Yes, thank you again.”

“No problem. Hopefully, I’ll see you tonight at the party.”

A part of you wants to ask him to stay, to ask him to sit with you for just a bit longer. Instead, you watch him exit, taking the comforting light with him, and allowing the darkness to consume you again.

**Author's Note:**

> Request from Tumblr: “Could you write an Avengers x reader where the team doesn’t like her and make her life a living hell and she is in a position where the bad guy offers her a spot on their team in front of the Avengers and the reader accepts (I would love to see the A teams reaction) but then the reader beats the bad guy all by herself in front of the team…”


End file.
